A Royal Proposal

CHAPTER THREE

CHARLIE CERTAINLY BRIGHTENED at the mention of money, and Rafe was surprised by his stab of disappointment. After all, her reaction was exactly what he’d expected.

Now, however, caution also showed in Charlie’s expressive face, and that was also to be expected.

‘Why would you offer me money?’ she asked.

‘To entice you to stand in as your sister.’

She stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

‘I’m perfectly serious.’

Leaning back, she continued to watch him with obvious distrust. ‘You want me to pretend to be your fiancée?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, that’s ridiculous. Why?’

At least, she listened without interrupting while he explained. She leaned forward again, elbows on the table, chin resting in one hand, blue eyes intent, listening as if transfixed. Rafe told her about the inconvenient clause in Montaigne’s constitution, about the country’s mineral wealth and the very real threat of a takeover, and the possibility of ruin for the people who meant so much to him.

Charlie didn’t speak when he finished. She sat for a minute or two, staring first at him and then into space with a small furrow between her neatly arched brows. Then she picked up her phone.

‘Excuse me,’ she said without looking up from the small screen. ‘I’m just researching you.’

Rafe smiled. ‘Of course.’ He drained his coffee and sat back, waiting with barely restrained patience. But despite his tension, he thought how pleasant it was to be in a country where almost nobody knew him. Of course, his bodyguards were positioned just outside the café, but in every other way he was just an ordinary customer in a small Sydney coffee shop, chatting with a very pretty girl. The anonymity was a luxury he rarely enjoyed.

‘Wow,’ Charlie said, looking up from her phone. ‘You’re the real deal.’

Rafe’s moment of fantasy was over. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Would you consider my proposal?’

She grimaced. ‘I hate to sound mercenary, but how much money are we talking about?’

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars US.’

Charlie’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Her first instinct was to say no, she couldn’t possibly consider accepting such a sum. But then she remembered Isla.

Fanning her face with her hand, she took several deep breaths before she answered. ‘Crikey, Rafe, you sure know how to tempt a girl.’

Wow—not only would she be able to help Isla, she would be a step closer to finding out about Olivia as well. How could she pass up such an opportunity to meet her long-lost sister and maybe get some answers?

But even as she played with these beguiling possibilities Charlie gave Rafe a rueful smile. ‘It wouldn’t work, though, would it? I’d give the game away as soon as I arrived in Montaigne and opened my mouth.’

Yes, her Aussie accent was a problem. ‘Do you speak French?’

‘Oui.’

‘You learnt French here in Australia?’ Rafe asked in French.

‘I went to school in New Caledonia,’ Charlie replied with quite a passable French accent. ‘I lived there for a few years with my father. Our teacher was a proper Frenchwoman. Mademoiselle Picard.’

Rafe smiled with relief. Charlie’s French might be limited, but she could probably get by. ‘I think you would manage well enough. Olivia isn’t a native French speaker.’

‘As long as I dropped the crikeys?’

His smile deepened. ‘That would certainly help, but we would try to limit the amount of time you needed to speak in public. It’s all about appearances, really. And when it comes to how you look, you certainly had me and my detectives fooled.’

‘But I haven’t agreed to this,’ Charlie said quickly. ‘It’s so risky. I mean, there’s so much room for things to go wrong. What will happen, for example, if Olivia doesn’t turn up before your cut-off date? I couldn’t possibly marry you.’

She went bright pink as she said this.

Rafe watched the rosy tide with fascination. This girl was such a beguiling mix of innocence and worldliness. But now wasn’t the time to be distracted.

‘I’m confident we’ll find Olivia,’ he assured her. ‘But whatever happens, you have my word. If you come to Montaigne with me, you’ll be free to leave at the end of the month, if not sooner.’

‘Hmm... What about—?’ Charlie looked embarrassed. ‘You—you wouldn’t expect me to actually behave like a fiancée, would you? In private, I mean?’

This time Rafe manfully held back his urge to smile. ‘Are you worried that I’d expect to ravish you on a nightly basis?’

‘No, of course not.’ She dropped her gaze to the half-eaten baklava on her plate. ‘Well, yes...perhaps. I guess...’

‘There’s no need to worry,’ he said more gently. ‘Again, you have my word, Charlie. If you agreed to this, I would proudly escort you to public appearances as my fiancée, but in both public and in private I’d be a total gentleman. You’d have your own suite of rooms in the castle.’

Just the same, the thought of taking Charlie to bed was tempting. Extremely so. Despite her innocent, cautious façade, Rafe sensed an exciting wildness in her, an essential spark he’d found lacking in her sister.

But, sadly, his years as a playboy prince were behind him. Now responsibility for his country weighed heavily. If Charlie agreed to return with him to Montaigne, the engagement would be a purely political, diplomatic exercise, just as it had been with Olivia.

Charlie was very quiet now, as if she was giving his proposal serious thought.

‘So what do you think?’ he couldn’t help prompting, while trying desperately to keep the impatience from his voice.

Charlie looked up at him, all big blue eyes and dark lashes, and he could see her internal battle as she weighed up the pros and cons.

Rafe wished he understood those cons. Was she worried about leaving her job at short notice? Were there family commitments? Did this involve the phone call from her father? A jealous lover?

He frowned at this last possibility. But surely, if there was a serious boyfriend on the scene, Charlie would have mentioned him by now.

‘I can’t pretend I’m not interested, Rafe,’ she said suddenly. ‘But I need to talk to—to someone.’

So...perhaps there was a boyfriend, after all. Rafe tried not to frown.

‘When do you need a decision?’ she asked.

‘As soon as possible. I hoped to fly out tonight.’

‘Tonight? Can you book a flight that quickly?’

‘I don’t need to book. I have a private jet.’

‘Of course you do,’ Charlie said softly and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘You’re a prince.’ She gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head, but then her gaze was direct as she met his. ‘What time do you want to leave, then?’ she asked.

Now. ‘Ten o’clock? Eleven at the latest.’ He pulled a chequebook from his pocket and filled in the necessary details, including his scrawled signature. ‘Take this with you,’ he said as he tore off the cheque.

Charlie took it gingerly, almost as if it were a time bomb. She swallowed as she stared at it. ‘You’d hand over that amount of money? Just like that? You trust me?’

Rafe didn’t like to point out that his men would be tailing her, so he simply nodded.

She folded the cheque and slipped it into her handbag and she looked pale as she rose from her seat. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said. ‘Give me your phone number and I’ll text you.’

CHAPTER FOUR

MICHAEL MORISSET, WHO had the same curls and clear blue eyes that Charlie had inherited, looked as if he’d aged ten years when she met him at the hospital.

It was frightening to see her normally upbeat and carefree father looking so haggard and worn.

Skye looked even worse. Only a few short days ago, the happy mother had been glowing as she proudly showed off her sweet newborn daughter. Now Skye looked pale and gaunt, with huge dark circles under her eyes. Her shoulders were stooped and even her normally glossy auburn hair hung in limp strands to her shoulders.

Charlie’s eyes stung as she hugged her stepmother. She couldn’t imagine how terrified Skye must be to know that her sweet little daughter had only the most tenuous hold on life.

‘Would you like to see Isla?’ Skye asked.

Charlie nodded, but her throat closed over as her father and Skye took her down the hospital corridor, and she had to breathe in deeply through her nose in an attempt to stay calm.

The baby was in a Humidicrib in a special isolation ward and they could only look at her through a glass window.

Isla was naked except for a disposable nappy, and she was lying on her side with her wrinkled hands folded together and tucked under her little chin. A tube had been inserted into her nose and was taped across her cheek to hold it in place. Monitor wires were taped to her tummy and her feet. Such a sad and scary sight.

‘Oh, poor darling.’ The cry burst from Charlie. She couldn’t help it. Her heart was breaking.

She tried to imagine a doctor operating on such a tiny wee thing. Thank heavens she had found the money for the very best surgeon possible. She suppressed a nervous shiver. This was hardly the time to dwell on the details of what earning that money entailed. Her baby sister was her focus.

As she watched, Isla gave a little stretch. One hand opened, tiny fingers fluttering, bumping herself on the chin so that she frowned, making deep furrows across her forehead. Now she looked like a little old lady.

‘Oh,’ Charlie cried again. ‘She’s so sweet. She’s gorgeous.’

She turned to her father and Skye, who were holding hands and gazing almost fearfully at their daughter.

‘I’ve found a way to raise the money,’ Charlie told them quickly.

Skye gasped. ‘Not enough to take her to Boston, surely?’

‘Yes.’

Skye gave a dazed shake of her head. ‘With a special nurse to accompany her?’

‘Yes, there’s money to cover all those costs.’

‘Oh, my God.’

Skye went white and clutched at her husband’s arm, looking as if she might faint.

‘Are you sure about this, Charlie?’ her father demanded tensely. ‘I don’t want Skye to get her hopes up and then be disappointed.’

Charlie nodded. ‘I have the cheque in my handbag.’ Nervously, she drew out the slim, astonishing slip of paper. ‘It might take a few days before the money’s deposited into your bank account, but it’s a proper bank cheque. It’s all above board.’

‘Good heavens.’ Her father stared at the cheque and then stared at his daughter in disbelief. ‘How on earth did you manage this? What’s this House of St Romain? Some kind of church group? Who could be so generous?’

This was the awkward bit. Charlie had no intention of telling her dad and Skye about Rafe and the fact that she’d agreed to be a stand-in as a European prince’s pretend fiancée. For starters, they wouldn’t believe her—they would think she’d taken drugs, or had been hit on the head and was hallucinating.

But also, telling them about Rafe would involve telling them about Olivia, and this wasn’t the right moment to bring up that particular can of worms. Charlie was angry about her father’s silence over such an important matter as her sister. On the way to the hospital she’d allowed herself a little weep about her absent mother and unknown twin sister, but she’d consoled herself that by accepting the role of fake fiancée she was actually taking a step closer to finding the truth.

For now, though, they had to stay focused on Isla.

‘Dad, you have my word this money is from a legitimate source and there’s nothing to worry about. But it’s complicated, I’ll admit that. You’ll have to trust me for now. You’ve got enough to worry about with Isla. Let me take care of the money side of things.’

‘I hope you haven’t gone into debt, Charlie. You know I won’t be able to pay this back.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that either. The only issue will be finding someone to run the gallery while I’m—’ Charlie quickly changed tack. ‘I’ll be—busy organising everything. Do you think Amy Thornton might be available?’

‘I’m pretty sure Amy’s free. But for heaven’s sake, Charlie—’ For a long moment her father stared at her. ‘If you don’t want to tell me, I’m not going to press you,’ he said finally. ‘I do trust you, darling. I know you won’t be breaking any laws.’

‘Of course not. I’ve managed to find a generous—’ Charlie swallowed. ‘A generous benefactor, who wishes to remain anonymous.’

‘How amazing. That’s—that’s wonderful.’

Charlie forced a bright smile. ‘So now your job is to get busy with talking to doctors and airlines and everything that’s involved with getting Isla well.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Tears glistened in her father’s eyes. ‘Thank you, Charlie.’ His voice was ragged and rough with emotion. ‘Not every girl would be so caring about a half-sister.’

The three of them hugged, and Skye was weeping, but to Charlie’s relief her father quickly broke away to find a nursing sister. In no time he and the nurse were making the necessary arrangements. Her dad was stepping up to the mark and adopting full responsibility.

She was free to go.

She’d never realised how scary that could be.

* * *

A frenetic hour later Charlie had rung Amy Thornton and secured her services at the gallery for the next month. She’d showered, changed into jeans and a sweater for the long flight, and had taken her cat, Dolly, next door to be minded by Edna, a kind and very accommodating elderly neighbour.

As she frantically packed, she couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. She didn’t dare to stop and think too hard about her sudden whirlwind decision—she knew she’d have second, third and fourth thoughts about the craziness of it all. The only safe way to keep her swirling emotions under control was to keep busy.

Finally, she was packed and ready with her passport, which was, fortunately, up to date.

Rafe arrived just as Charlie was sitting on her suitcase trying to get it closed. He shot a curious and approving glance around her tiny flat with its bright red walls and black and white furnishings, which she was quietly rather proud of, and which normally included her rather beautiful black and white cat.

Then he eyed her bulging luggage and frowned.

‘I know it’s winter in Montaigne,’ Charlie offered as her excuse. ‘So I threw in every warm thing I have. But I’m not sure that any of my stuff is really suitable for snowy weather.’

Or for an aspiring princess, she added silently.

Rafe passed this off with a shrug. ‘You can always buy new warm clothes when you get there.’

Yes, she could do that if she hadn’t already reallocated his generous payment. She felt a tad guilty as she snapped the locks on her suitcase shut.

Rafe picked it up. ‘I have a taxi waiting.’

‘Right.’ Charlie stifled a nervous ripple. This was going to work out. And it wasn’t a completely foolish thing to do. It was worthwhile. Really, it was. She would provide a front for Rafe while he got things sorted with Olivia and saved his country from some kind of economic ruin. And little Isla was getting a very important chance to have a healthy life.

Straightening her shoulders, she pinned on a brave smile. ‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ she told Rafe.

To her surprise, he didn’t immediately turn to head for the door. He took a step forward, leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave, felt the warm brush of his lips on her skin.

‘Thank you for doing this, Charlie.’ His eyes blazed with surprising emotion and warmth. ‘It means a lot to me.’

Charlie wasn’t sure what to say. When people did unexpectedly nice things she had a bad habit of crying. But she couldn’t allow herself to cry now, so she nodded brusquely. Then she followed him out, shut the door, and slipped the key under the mat outside Edna’s door, as they’d arranged.

As she did so, Edna’s door opened to reveal the old lady with Dolly in her arms.

‘We thought we’d wave you off,’ Edna said, beaming a jolly smile as she lifted one of Dolly’s white paws and waggled it. But then Edna saw Rafe and she forgot to wave or to smile. Instead she stood there, like a statue, eyes agog.

Great.

Charlie suppressed a groan. When she’d told her neighbour about her hastily arranged flight, she hadn’t mentioned a male companion. Now everyone in their block of flats would know that Charlie Morisset had taken off on reckless impulse with a tall, dark and extremely handsome stranger.

* * *

Conversation was limited as the taxi whizzed across Sydney, although Rafe did comment on the beauty of the harbour and the magnificent Opera House. In no time, they arrived at a private airport terminal that Charlie hadn’t even known existed.

There was no queue, no waiting, no taking her shoes off for Security, not even tickets to be checked. Her passport was carefully examined though, by a round little Customs man with a moustache, who did a lot of bowing and scraping and calling Rafe ‘Your Highness’. Then their luggage was trundled away and there was no more to do.

Rafe’s plane was ready and waiting.

Oh, boy. Charlie had been expecting a smallish aircraft that would probably need to make many stops between Australia and Europe. This plane was enormous.

‘Do you own this?’ she couldn’t help asking Rafe.

He chuckled. ‘I don’t need to own a jet. They’re very easy to charter, and I have a priority listing.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ she muttered under her breath.

At that point, she might have felt very nervous about flying off into the unknown with a man she’d only just met, but Rafe took her arm as they crossed the tarmac, tucking it companionably under his, and somehow everything felt a little better and safer. And he kept a firm steadying hand at her elbow as they mounted the steps and entered the plane.

Then Charlie forgot to be nervous. She was too busy being impressed. And overawed.

The interior of Rafe’s chartered jet was like no other plane she’d ever seen or imagined. It was more like a hotel suite—with padded armchairs and sofas, and a beautiful dining table.

Everything was exquisite, glamorous and tasteful, decorated in restful blues and golds. As they went deeper into the plane, there were wonderful double beds—two of them, Charlie was relieved to see—complete with banks of pillows, soft wall lamps, and beautiful gold quilts.

The only things to remind her that this was a jet were the narrowness of the space and the lines of porthole windows down each side.

‘OK,’ she said, sending Rafe a bright grin. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘I hope you have a comfortable flight.’

‘There’d have to be something wrong with me if I didn’t.’

He looked amused as he smiled. ‘Come and take a seat ready for take-off.’

Rafe’s bodyguards had boarded the plane as well, but they disappeared into a section behind closed doors, leaving Rafe and Charlie in total privacy as they strapped themselves into stupendously luxurious white leather chairs. An excessively polite, young female flight attendant appeared, dressed demurely in powder blue and carrying a tray with glasses of champagne, complete with strawberries and a platter with cheese and grapes and nuts.

Oh, my. Until now, Charlie had been too busy and preoccupied to give much thought to what being a prince’s fiancée involved, but it seemed this gig might be a ton of fun. Despite her worries about Isla and about all the unknowns that lay ahead of her, she should try to relax and enjoy it.

* * *

The flight was a breeze. First there was a scrumptious meal of roasted leek soup, followed by slow-cooked lamb and a tiny mousse made from white chocolate and cherries, and to drink there was wonderful French champagne.

Charlie gave Rafe a blissful smile as she patted her lips with the napkin. ‘This is so delicious,’ she said, for perhaps the third or fourth time.

He looked slightly bemused and she wondered if she’d gone a bit too far with her praise.

Of course, she’d been out with guys who’d fed her beautiful meals before this, but it was still an experience she could never get tired of. At home, she’d done most of the cooking before her father’s marriage, and she now cooked for herself in the flat, but she’d never seemed to have time to learn more than the basics. Fancy gourmet food was a treat.

After dinner, Rafe said he had business to attend to and was soon busy frowning at his laptop. Charlie, yawning and replete, changed into pyjamas and climbed into an incredibly comfortable bed.

She expected to lie awake for ages mulling over the amazing and slightly scary turn her life had taken in one short day, but with a full tummy, an awesomely comfy bed, and the pleasant, deep, throbbing drone of the plane’s engines, she fell asleep quickly.

* * *

Rafe suppressed a sigh as he watched Charlie fall asleep with almost childlike speed. Was that the sleep of innocence? He hadn’t slept well for weeks—since the night of his father’s death. There always seemed to be too much to worry about. First his guilt and despair that he’d been so caught up in his good-time life that he’d missed any chance to bid his father farewell. And then the weighty realities of assuming his sudden new responsibilities.

Now he scanned the emails he’d downloaded before boarding the plane, but there was still no good news about Olivia, or about the intelligence surveillance on Claude Pontier.

Rafe was confident that it wouldn’t be long now, before they caught Pontier out. Montaigne’s Head of Police, Chief Dameron, was a wise, grey-haired fellow, approaching retirement, so he had a wealth of experience. He’d come up through the ranks, earning his promotions through hard work and diligence, but he’d also been trained by the FBI.

Consequently, his combination of old-school police procedures with the latest technical surveillance savvy was invaluable. Rafe had every faith in him.

Now Rafe looked again towards the bed where Charlie slept, curled on her side with golden curls tumbling on the pillow, and he was surprised by the tenderness he felt towards this girl who’d so readily stepped into her sister’s shoes. He wondered if their similarities were more than skin deep.